The aftermath- Scorned
Cable Jungles - Cybertron The vast, open-air plains eventually give way to massive coils of cables, rust-red and copper-green in hue. It's unclear how this tangled mass came to be, but it appears strangely organic as it reaches high above the typical metropolis sky-line. Some cables are as thick as trains, some no larger than a datapad stylus. Some are corroded, some are highly reflective. Some even seem to move! Light hardly reaches the ground here, which is marred with deep grooves from cables that have shifted one way or another. Occasionally small clearings are stumbled upon, but trekking through this tangle tends to be arduous and time-consuming. Contents: Scorn Insecticon Hive Their last encounter was... eventful, to say the least. And not in a good way, unfortunately, so today may be a bit tense when Blast Off decides to visit. And instead of being invited to one of the nice terraces on the tree connected to the hive, he's instead escorted below ground to a more secure location where guards stand by to await confirmation before letting him in. It seems he gets the privilege of spending some time in Scorn's private quarters, though upon passing through the heavy door he'll find himself in a parlour of sorts, decorated in a stylish mix of modern high society and Golden Age fineries. Scorn herself is currently sitting on one of the two loveseats, gesturing hand to the other. "Please, have a seat." There's no warmth in her tone, nor is there any bite. Instead she remains neutral while waving hand next to the bottle of Black Tar sitting on the table between them. "Care for a glass?" Blast Off arrives and walks down with his escorts without uttering a word. The Combaticon simply does as told and steps inside Scorn's parlour, where he stops and stands. No nod, no greeting, nor does he seem to really take in the grand settings... settings that would usually draw his appreciation and approval. As Scorn invites him to sit, he does, settling in without his usual aristocratic and self-important demeanor. There is something rather... blank about him right now. He does finally respond with a nod as Scorn offers him some Black Tar. Scorn narrows optics ever so slightly at his behavior, but dismisses her thoughts and pours both of them a drink. Taking glass in hand, she doesn't take a sip just yet, instead idly swirling the liquid and crossing one leg over the other while regarding him quietly. A few moments pass in silence before she finally speaks up, "Blast Off.. while I'm sorry for your loss, I hope you don't hold anything against me for doing what I did. ...You were top priority, and I couldn't have carried you both." Of course, she says this as if she attempted to save Protea. "But I mean, you heard her, saying she worked with Blurr this whole time. A shame, really.." The mantis takes a small, casual sip. Blast Off takes the glass and begins to sip from it, though it seems rather rote. He finally responds, again sounding very flat in tone, "No. What's done is done. She worked for Blurr. You couldn't be expected to act otherwise." He stares off at some spot on the opposite wall and continues sipping mechanically. Scorn raises a brow ever so slightly at his response, leaning over a little to obstruct his view of the wall and look at him in the optics. "Quite. And is this how you expect to act? Moping about?" Clearly she doesn't understand grieving, especially when she follows up with her next comment, snorting softly. "You must have really liked that femme. Hmph, wonder what you saw in her." Another sip until she sets her glass down and stands to stroll about the room, speaking while examining her decorations. "But no matter, we have other things to worry about." A pause to look at a piece on the mantle before looking his way. "I imagine you wanted to know my reason for following you in the first place. While usually I'd withhold that information.. I respect you enough to tell you the truth. I was simply keeping tabs on you after that little.. event with Americon. I didn't want you doing something behind my back, you see." A faint smirk. "Though I suppose that's in the past now, considering I just saved your life." Blast Off blinks as Scorn suddenly obstructs his non-view and focuses back on her momentarily, optics still blank. Until Scorn scoffs about Protea- then his optics narrow just... slightly. He doesn't respond otherwise. As Scorn goes on, his own gaze seems to wander again... until she talks of respect. Pale violet optics come back to focus on her as Blast Off keeps his rote sipping of the Black Tar. He seems to have to think a moment to remember things. "I... see. Yes. About that. I expect you want something in return now." Scorn continues on her stroll around the room as he speaks, nodding. "More like somethings. A life is a big thing to have on the table, you know." A soft chuckle escapes and she steps up behind the couch he sits on, resting both hands upon his shoulders. "But you don't have to worry about that right now. If I need something, I'll call on you. I'm not one to just cash in everything at once, you know." Hands leave him as soon as they came, Scorn now settling back in her seat and taking up her drink. "And you? What do you think of this arrangement? I know it's not very.. sophisticated of me, but I imagine you've already seen by now that I have my faces.." Scorn could be charming as could be, but get on her bad side and.. well, just don't. Blast Off stares back at the wall as Scorn walks up behind him, still sipping that Black Tar. He finishes the glass, and normally might delay a bit before starting anew, considering how potent the drink is. But he simply pours another glass and continues sipping. As Scorn puts her hands on his shoulders, he stiffens a little... but his reaction is still subdued. It does stop his drinking for a moment, though. "I suppose it is. And... I'm sure you will." As Scorn returns to her seat, he resumes his drinking again. For the first time he seems to loosen just slightly, slumping a little into the seat. "I... did see that, yes." Another sip, and he responds. This time, there's the tiniest hint of sharpness to his tone. "Why? ....Does what I think actually matter in this little arrangement?" "I'd like to think so, yes. True, I wouldn't care much if it were another. But like I said, Blast Off, I do respect you." Enough to pretty much kill his spy girlfriend, but that's neither here nor there. "And you've hardly spoken a word since getting here. Please, speak your mind. It's just you and me here, after all." Scorn said that, woops. Blast Off stares down at his glass blankly. "What is there to say? What's done is done." He finishes that glass, too, and pours another- though now his hand is slightly unsteady as he raises it to the small hatch in his faceplate. A faint trace of resentment rises in voice as he states, "It's just another day and another thing I have to deal with. Add it to the list, what's one more?" His grip tightens on the glass, and he stares into it again. "Anything else, or can I go now?" Scorn's jaw tightens somewhat as he tries to dismiss himself. "Not yet." She stands again, but instead of peruse the room, she instead walks directly in front of him, staring down at the mech. She can hear his tone, see his movements shift just a bit towards the unsteady. If anything could loosen Blast Off up and pull him from his wallowing mood it was Black Tar, and Scorn knew it. "Look at me." Her tone is stern, yet neutral, almost commanding, and if he doesn't she'll force him up by grasping his chin. "I can't quite.. grasp how you're feeling right now. Those sort of emotions are.. difficult, so I can't rightly tell you to simply snap out of this wallowing, depressive state you're in. However..." She leans down to meet him, hovering a few inches from his face and meeting those violet optics with halfmast yellows. "Maybe I know of a way to cheer you up, mm?" A coy smirk works its way onto Scorn's face, as if suggesting something, but it becomes something else entirely. "Now, I'm not saying I'm one to avenge people, I'm really not. However, I do so love to torture. So how about this.. If you're to ever defeat Blurr, I'd like you to bring him to me. Alive. Then you and I can have a bit of fun with him with all the painful little goodies I have at my disposal. How does that sound?" Blast Off keeps staring at his glass, gripping it tightly, until she grips his chin and tilts it towards her. His optics flicker in some confusion as she seems to lean in coyly... and then suggest capturing and torturing Blurr. Ah. The Combaticon looks up at her impassively. "Yes, torture Blurr. Sounds good. I'll be sure to bring him to you." It is probably the most singularly unenthusiastic and non-commital-sounding "yeah let's torture someone!" that has ever been uttered. Then he stares at her a while more, and starts to sway a little. The death grip on his glass returns, and he speaks quietly. "Speaking of which... you... may not be one to avenge people, but... I am." He leans in. "You... you took that power device from me." He sways a little more. "...And then... and then you rescued me." His grip is starting to crack the glass he's holding. "...But you didn't even TRY to help her. In fact, with that-that /face/.... you... made SURE she'd fall, didn't you?" His voice raises, and suddenly he's almost yelling at Scorn. "DIDN'T YOU?!?!" Scorn is doesn't appreciate the lack of excitement in his tone. Was he really too far into his mourning? She's about to say something else, but him speaking up again forces her to stay silent as he suddenly starts making accusations and even going so far as to raise his voice. Not the wisest move, Blast Off. This gets him a a hard narrow of her optics and a soft hiss from her vocals. "Yes, I took it. Because I could utilize it properly. War may be our lives, Blast Off, but it's also a business. One I know very, /very/ well." She leans in a little more. "And I /saved/ you because you're valuable to me! What, would you have prefered I let you die?" And then he mentions her face, something that actually brings a predatory grin to her lips while clasping his shoulders firmly, keeping him in place. "Oh, what face? You mean this one?!" In an instant Scorn's face splits, lower jaw seperating and spreading wide to display rows of razor-sharp teeth and that tongue that nearly lashes out as she emits a harsh, audial piercing screech in his face. That shriek of hunger quickly devolves into a dark chuckle, jaw still seperate and flexing as she speaks. "And what if I did? I could have just as easily let the both of you fall into that smelting pit. And even if Blurr hadn't shown up, she would have stabbed you in the back eventually, even if she did care for you, or end up dead herself for not carrying out the job. I know those types of people, Blast Off, so don't you /dare/ question my judgement in my own home!" Blast Off gives off a soft huff as Scorn talks of the device, and glares at her as she leans in. As she grasps his shoulders he stiffens a little, but when Scorn screeches and makes her "face" that does get the first real reaction from him so far. Optics widen and flicker and he jerks back, though sitting on a couch there isn't anywhere to really go. hands come up and brace against her, trying to push her back. "How do you know that for sure?!! You speak of /respecting/ me, Scorn... yet you did NOT respect me enough to respect my decisions! Protea was with ME... and you KNEW that..." He shoves at her angrily, and moves to jump up from the couch, "...and YOU should have at least tried to save her! You could have at least swung her to the side!" The Combaticon is still swaying slightly, and his optics are going from pale violet to a deeper, angrier purple. "...I know war, too. I'm a slagging COMBATICON!!! I know these people too... and everyone is a back-stabber, eventually. /Everyone/." He says, looking directly at Scorn as he says that. Scorn would've pressed further, kept taunting and making her point, but then Blast Off makes his own. It's enough to actually shock her, make her pause long enough for him to push her away and stand. But it soon begins to sink in and she frowns after rolling her jaw to seal it back in place, brows pinching as optics are cast away. "...I knew, yes. Not for long, but I did. And I did it because..." A pained, sickened look passes across her visage, as if admitting having such emotions made her ill. "Because I was jealous, alright??" A glare shoots at the mech across the table, optics growing brighter in fury. "I'm not about to let someone take something away from me! Those who get in the way of what I want end up dead!" She's shouting now, seething through clenched teeth and tightened fists. "Especially some bumbling, bleeding heart neutral for hire!" Scorn is starting to show her true colors now, letting Blast Off see just how greedy and broken her mind is. She didn't want it to come to this. Blast Off scrambles back off the couch and steps back, putting a little distance between them. He does seem rattled at Scorn's less.... "pleasant" face. He takes another step back, then pauses as Scorn admits she was....jealous? This makes him stop, optics flickering in confusion again... and then understanding. He tilts his head, considering that... but as Scorn continues his stance becomes angrier again. Optics glow purple and he stands as if ready to launch into combat himself any moment, arms slightly off to his sides and head leaned forward, still swaying unsteadily. "That wasn't your decision to MAKE.... or it shouldn't have been... and I'm tired of decisions being made FOR me. In fact, you want to know what I think? I'm tired of a LOT of things! Including the fact that YOU!... YOU basically killed Protea!!!!" And he swings the glass he was holding and throws it, smashing it against the wall, optics blazing. Scorn should be furious to see her glassware broken, but instead she simply pulls lips into a deep scowl. Anger bleeds away a moment to let some clarity shine through, enough to keep herself from slashing out at Blast Off or doing something else she might regret. "If Protea still lived then you would've been dead in more ways than you can imagine. Eventually she or Blur would have gotten you, but I can imagine at least someone else knew of her. How far do you think you would've gotten before they let knowledge of her slip? The Empire would have had her taken, tortured for what she knew. Or worse, had you killed once they found out who she was working for! I may have followed you to look out for myself that day, Blast Off, but what I ended up doing was all in your interest." Finishing her piece, Scorn huffs and turns, rubbing her forehead before waving a hand dismissivly at the door. "I'm finished. If you are too then I suggest you leave.." Blast Off doesn't want to hear it. He glares furiously at Scorn. "I have managed a LOT over the millenia, and I do NOT need YOU to tell ME how to live MY LIFE. I can handle myself." A key part of his personality, the Renegade Decepticon side- the side of him that does NOT want to be ordered around or commanded to do anything, flashes strongly to the surface... a side effect of the Black Tar. It's an aspect he normally keeps more tightly under control. "DON'T lecture me. DON'T tell me what to do." He takes an unsteady step towards her aggressively, and points a finger, his voice beginning to raise again. "I'm sick and tired of people telling me what to do. Or getting in my way. You didn't save Protea when you could have. How DARE you come in here and order me around NOW!" He's swaying quite a bit now. "Lies and manipulation and back-stabbing, it's all it is! You FAILED. It didn't work like you thought, did it? You're not as PERFECT as you think." He swings an arm around. "I want to know WHY you thought you could get away with this? I want to know WHY you didn't see this coming? I want to know WHY didn't you do anything to stop this sooner, or save Protea when the time came? I want to know WHY YOU FELL FOR THIS WHOLE THING WITH PROTEA TO BEGIN WITH?!?!" Then he stops, and even in his drunken state... somewhere he realizes what he just said to Scorn doesn't make sense. Blinking and swaying, the shuttleformer stands there looking completely confused now. Failed. The word cuts like a knife, stabs her deep and pins her in place. All her angry suddenly fades away and melts into a fearful look, those optics wide and in shock as she takes a step back under the pressure of his berating. "I.. I didn't fail! I saved you! She was just in the way, it had to be done!" The femme suddenly winces, clutching at her chestplate as if in pain. Being called out like this all of a sudden, it hurts, as does the surge of suppressed emotions trying to rise to the surface. It's too much for her, so Scorn does the only thing she can. Reject it all. "NO!" She lashes back at him, Blast Off quickly finding himself in the presence of her altmode. Wings flare open as she rises up to her full height, brandishing bladed arms and gnashing mandibles as optics burn bright in rage. "I refuse to be talked down to like this! I refuse to let you treat me like the others! If you still value your life, then by Primus you will leave this hive before I devour everything that you are!!" The giant mantis cries her primal fury, her threatening screech filling the room and shattering the remaining glassware as well as the bottle of Black Tar. And then all hell breaks loose, Scorn rampaging through her room, flinging the table across it and slicing a couch in two. "GET OUT!!" Scorn crouches before shifting into her scythe-armed mantis mode. Blast Off still stands, confused... as through the Black Tar-induced fog it suddenly occurs to him that last part of his rant wasn't even directed at Scorn. He *is* angry with Scorn, yes. But his anger and drunkeness then combined into a whirlwind of regrets, fury and frustration... directed not at the femme but Blurr, who was the one who started this whole mess. Yes, his REAL anger is directed at that foul Autobot. Blast Off clenches his fist. But then lowers it slightly, still swaying. There's something else, something he doesn't want to admit. He's got a gigantic ego, and admitting any kind of failure is difficult. But somewhere, at least in this drunken state... he can't completely push aside the fact that he's angry and frustrated with *himself*, too. WHY? Why did he fall for this? Why couldn't he do more? Can't he handle anything life throws at him? He was so confident Protea was safe with him, whether or not it turned out to be a trap. HE failed. The Combaticon doesn't have a lot of time to reflect on this, however, as Scorn is...scorned. And Blast Off finds out why one really /doesn't/ want to see her live up to her name. As she transforms and lashes out in fury, he stumbles back, startled. He finally can't go any further as his back hits the wall, and he stands there, hand out on either side against the wall. Then she shrieks, shattering glass everywhere, and the Combaticon stutters, "I...I didn't mean..." He shakes his head, trying to clear it. "I...I didn't mean that you... NO, I... meant... Blurr... HE'S the one who failed..." He brings a hand up to his forehead, beginning to regret all this. Then a table goes flying by, and the Combaticon nearly has to jump up the wall to avoid it. "I..." Well, this evening could have gone better, that's for sure. But when furniture starts flying, perhaps it's time to do as Scorn says. She is Queen here, and he's in her domain. "I... perhaps we can talk later..." And he starts inching quickly along to the door for a less than graceful exit. The sound of furniture being thrown and expensive items being broken continues with her hellish screeching after he leaves, though it seems he's still not out of the woods yet. Upon exiting the room he'll come face to face with the guards that still stand outside it, their crimson optics glowing dangerously and appendages twitching anxiously. "Leave.." One of them chitters out in his buzzing voice, sounding on the edge of attacking Blast Off right there and eating him on the spot. They call it a hive for a reason. Everyone has felt traces of Scorn's ire and it's clearly got them wriled as all eyes are on the mech as he flees the Insecticon den, all of them looking hungry as the air hangs heavy with anticipation. Blast Off ...has really screwed up here, and even HE has to (sort of) admit it. The enerhol seems to fog up his cerebro-cortex at the same time it peels away some layers of his usual denial. And while the Combaticon is /already/ usually a bit uneasy inside this place, that unease pales compared to what he's sensing now. There's a real sense that he could become an Insecticon group meal pretty quickly if he doesn't move it. Normally, that wouldn't be so much of a problem, but he's quite drunk. "Aloof" and "sophisticated" are abandoned in favor of "Get the Slag Out of Here". Running as fast as he can, he still manages to nearly run right into one hungry-looking Insecticon as he tries to avoid another. Stumbling here and nearly slamming into a wall there, he almost loses his way... it's a confusing place to an outsider, and especially a drunk outsider. But Primus must be smiling on him after all, as he eventually sees the light of the outdoor sky ahead and makes his way towards it. It's odd. They look as if they want to eat him, but none actually move in to make the kill. Instead they prowl at his heels, hissing in the shadows of trailing right behind him like a pack of wolves. He'll be allowed to fly away, but it's fair to say he may not be welcome here for a while to come. Blast Off wastes no time making his escape, glancing back at the hungry hordes as he finally reaches the exit and launches into the air, transforming and rocketing away, still a bit unsteady. Yeah... this was not his finest moment. He's glad to finally find himself in the comfort of the open sky... but he knows it's a short respite. He will have to deal with Scorn again. (Most likely... to apologize.) And regardless of anything else... she did save his life, and he owes her that much.